My Name Is Skye Danvers, And Im Alone
by VickyRose
Summary: My Name Is Skye Danvers, I'm Depressed, Heart Broken, Anxiety Ridden, And Alone.  That Was Until I Found My Peacr In Jasper Hale, The Emo LEGEND


Another slow, slice. Just a little twinge of pain, then the release I was searching for.  
>Even though it hardly helped deal with the constant ache that was throbbing inside me, wanting to burst out, the more slices I created, the more the ache lessened, but not for very long.<br>Another slice, this one longer, from my wrist, half way up my forearm, Slightly jagged, to underline the words that spoke volumes to me, and not anyone else, well, anyone else who saw the words.

My name is Skye Danvers, and I'm alone, depressed, anxiety ridden, and heart broken. And this is my story.

When i was just three, my mom got murdered. Yeah, bad enough that she got murdered, but even worse, by my dad, and my so called brother. From what I recall, my mother was the best. She was caring, always paid attention to me; I was her 'little girl'. My mom, Samantha was her name, was not like the ordinary housewife. She was a punk rocker, but still loving. She had tattoos, and a LOT of piercings; this is the information that I have gathered about her from seeing videos played on the VCR and pictures of her when I was a baby. With bright pink hair, and black streaks, with hints of blue on the tips, she obviously stood out from the crowd, but she didn't want the attention, just to show who she was and what she felt like through her fashion and hair. The number of piercings is countless. Two vampire bites, snake bites, a Monroe, nose, all around her ears, barbells in her wrists, divers around her eyebrows, her cheeks, studs in all of her fingers, two spider bites, a corset piercing – which she changed the colour of the ribbon depending on her mood – and she had chest studs, in the pattern of an 'S'. She had my name tattooed on the right of her ribs, in an elegant script, with the date of my birth underneath it, labelling _'My Baby Girl Skye Danvers, 14__th__ December 1991.'_ She also had the logo of her favourite band on her left shoulder blade, _'Bullet for My Valentine'_ in the same script as the tattoo on her ribs. People thought that was a stupid mistake, getting the name of your favourite band inked onto your skin forever, but she never grew old of their songs.  
>All of these piercing's didn't make her look ugly, but unique, and she still looked beautiful, will the glimmer of happiness in her eyes, and the crooked smile always plastered on her lips while I was around. She was slender and curvy, a perfect height for a 34 year old woman, standing proud at 5ft 9", with a figure that didn't make her look like a man, but a perfectly proportional woman.<br>I noticed that things started to change in the videos once I started hitting the five month mark. The glimmer of happiness started to fade in her jade green eyes, and she just sat in a chair, or standing expressionless, emotionless, motionless, only breathing, not blinking once, just thinking. In pictures she also started to not smile, and when she did you could tell it was forced, in videos around my dad, she would cringe, or try and get someone else to stand in between them, dark circles formed under her eyes, like punch marks, which could easily be disguised by concealer to look like another sleepless night. Losing weight was easily shown through her clothing; as she only wore super skinny jeans, and skin tight tops, or t-shirts with long sleeves underneath, the jeans started to get baggy, turning into just ordinary skinny, then to baggy, the skin tight tops went from accentuating her curves, to showing the bulging collarbones, then to being hanging off of her shoulders. In the videos, she would be curled up on the couch, cradling me in her arms, cooing softly, shielding me from the world outside with the curtain of her dyed, straightened and teased hair.  
>Another thing I loved about my mom, she always kept eye contact with me, always showing her emotions, well, to me anyway.<p>

I wish I could go back in time and stop what was happening to my mother, but I was only a weak 5 month old baby, and couldn't even support my own head without help from someone else, let alone stand up and support my mother through everything that was happening to her. The signs were so obvious now, being abused, probably even raped, and I was too young and fragile to notice a thing, but it looked like my mother tried her hardest not to show the pain and suffering that she was going through, which I am grateful for, but greatly guilty. This went on for 2 years and 5 months. Until she was murdered by my father. Ugh, how I despise to call that despicable specimen of a human being my father, or even just a man. Human, even! With the reputation of a rapist and murderer, as well as a criminal and theft, he has been safely killed by the electric chair, at Folsom State Prison, 20miles north east of Sacramento CA, safely 2,370.35 miles from Washington, or to be more precise, 3,814.7 kilometres away, so there was no need for me to worry.

All you need to know about the lame excuse of my 'father' is that his name is David Stone. My mother didn't want the same surname as him, and now I am extremely glad that it isn't now, otherwise I would have changed it within two seconds of turning 18. The excuse that she used was that 'Samantha Stone' didn't sound right, especially if someone had a lisp and couldn't say it right, and that she didn't want a name which was alliterated. So she stuck with Samantha Danvers, which she loved a lot, and stood her ground on this one thing. The other excuse that David couldn't fight with, was that she wanted to keep the one thing left she had to remember her mother and father, whom passed away when she was just a teenager, he couldn't say no to that, and didn't bring up the subject again.  
>When Sean was born before me, he was loved by David, so mom used David's last name for his 'number one boy' and 'honeymoon miracle' as he liked to put it. Sean has been sentenced to a lifelong time in prison, the same one at which his 'favourite dad' had died at, which he is ever so upset about. He might even be sentenced to death with the electric chair as well, follow in the footsteps of his father, as he proclaimed when he was just a young boy, which was caught on film. You could see my mother's upset face in the corner of the screen when Sean said that, but she didn't say anything, hoping not to get a beating that night.<br>Following in his footsteps he sure did, by helping David rape the innocent girls when he was just 15 years old and even murdering a few himself. That is all I remember Sean as, scum. Not earning the label as a brother, just another person with a name in my past.

That is all I want to remember from my past, and only just being 19, I have outnumbered my mother with the number of tattoos and piercings I have. The only reasons I have done this to myself – the tattoos and piercings – is as a memorial for my mother. The name '_Samantha Jane Danvers'_ inked proudly on my ribs, on the right side of my torso, above the intricate pattern of a lotus flower, and the writing just HAD to be in the same script as my name was on her skin, even the exact same shade of royal blue, which was in perfect contrast with my alabaster skin, as well as the black and royal blue of the lotus flower. With the two snake bites, one Monroe, three Tragus's and the rest of my ears pierced, skin divers, spider bites, wrist barbells, corset piercing – which was always a dark purple – and studs in all of my fingers, and not forgetting the 'S' pierced on my skin, on the right side of my chest in jade green skin divers, to remind me of my mother's eyes, as well as the S standing for Samantha, and obviously, Skye.  
>On the inside of my right ankle, I have had the words<br>_'My name is Tiffany,  
>I am three,<br>And tonight my daddy,  
>Murdered me.<em>' Inscribed in a black coloured script, to remind me of when Samantha died, how old I was when it happened, and the poem was to remind me how much pain she must have gone through, while I was still young, and innocent, thinking everything was OK and people were always smiling and playing happy families. My hair is electric blue, with black underneath the 5th level of layers, also with hot pink on the tips; I had all of the colours that my mother had, another tribute to the life of Samantha Danvers, which was ended at the early age of 34, she still had her whole life ahead of her, getting grandchildren, and possible great grandchildren, whom would have obviously loved her, everybody loved Samantha Danvers, for her wackiness, happiness, always being comforting, a shoulder to cry on, a perfect best friend, and a fantastic mother.

A sting brought me back to the present, and I saw that I stabbed the razor blade into the edge of my new cut design. _'This Is for You Mom'_ was inscribed into my flesh, leaving a permanent scar etched into my arm, which I will always see when I paint, sing, play guitar, or write, maybe even just relaxing, which my therapist has told me to carry on doing, even though I have stopped going to sessions with her, but she said 'it will help keep your anxiety down.' Hopefully she speaks some truth, and not a lot of crap.

I have been to 14 different adoptive houses since my mother died, more when I was younger, apparently new couples like the whole 'young baby girl' look, but quickly took me back, because of the constant screaming, crying and wailing that I did, only because none of the women looked like MY Samantha, my mom. They were all too perfect, too plastic, too happy, and nothing wrong with them. Even at just 3 years old, I knew that nobody could ever be like my mom, so I never bothered to be happy, or make anyone else happy.  
>This is how I lived for the 14 years of my life, until I was old enough to get a job, and move into my own house. In and out of foster care, they just put on a revolving door with my name inscribed on a gold plate. – See how lame I am at cracking jokes? – That is why I never laugh, never smile, never really show any emotions, hardly talk, and when I do, it is always in a monotone voice.<p> 


End file.
